Someone says his name, and that isn't completely out of the ordinary, these days. It's almost like the Prison in some ways-- people know him, want things from him, know the things he can do. At least, they're starting to.

He looks up from the arrow he was fiddling with, and the guy who's talking to him is nobody Daryl knows, but that doesn't mean shit. The way Beth was going on about him, this guy probably wanted hunting tips. Daryl stops walking, though he keeps the arrow dancing between his fingers. He grunts, noncommittal.

"Yeah?"